


A Modest House

by quicksparrows



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: Cloud has a dream.Pre-Advent Children.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	A Modest House

They have a modest house. It is fashioned in the spirit of Elmyra’s Sector 5 home, with the bric-a-brac and a can-do spirit, but the bones of Nibelheim are there too, in the timber frames and mortise-and-tenon jointing. It is small but it is home. Everything has its place, even if it doesn’t always make it there. They hire a young local to do maintenance repairs where needed after one too many quarrels over renovations — she is a tinkerer, he a doer. This is fine because their garden is truly their own, and she takes any crack in the earth fills it to bursting with flowers. They have a lot of visitors, and people always remark on the strange construction; the front hall stretches on all the way to the living area and kitchen at the back of the house, with all the rooms coming off it like ventricles off the aorta. Visitors all pass a long narrow table at the front hall that is covered in pictures. There is someone missing in all of them, but a little girl features in most. The girl has brilliant green eyes, like her mother.

Cloud steps out onto the porch. An overjoyed shriek pierces his ears; the little girl skips in and out of range of the garden hose, which her mother sprays at her gamely. The gardens are lush, the beds dark and droplets clinging to the petals of the lemon-lillies. Aerith turns to see him watching and she smiles. The buttons of her sundress are taut around her belly.

“Hey there,” she says, sly. “You live here now?”

 _Yes_ , he wants to reply. But he is, in that moment, rolling over in bed; he fits his arm around his other partner and buries his nose in her long, dark hair, and he takes a deep breath in that finishes as a hiccup.

“Cloud,” she murmurs, shifting only to clamp his arms around her tighter. Anchoring him.

The modest house is a world away — a lifetime away.

Cloud curls himself around Tifa like she might vanish, too.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, a hand over his. “It’s just a dream.”

The Aerith in his mind’s eye vanishes.

In the morning, Tifa makes coffee. The pungent smell wakes him almost as much as being vertical does. He shambles down the hallway to the kitchen, following the scent like a hound dog. He'll have to be on the road soon. There are deliveries to make. He is looking forward to it.

Tifa takes one look at him in the doorway and she looks sad. Cloud leans against the countertop and she leaves him be for a moment, focused on selecting the right mugs from their modest collection. Half of them are novelty, purchased at tourist traps on the world's worst road trip. The lighter ceramics are stained from years of use, but to replace them would be sacrilege.

“Bad night?” Tifa asks. Her voice is a little mournful.

Cloud nods. He could tell her anything, but it won’t be anything she doesn’t already know. She presses herself against him, and he holds her, leaning both their weight against the counter’s edge. Her nose is a stubborn point against his shoulder. He spans a hand up her back and winds his fingers into the back of her shirt. Across the room, the coffee machine splutters out dark coffee. Overhead, he can hear the heavy footfalls of Barret moving about. The quiet ambience of the children getting ready for school.

“Yeah,” he says, finally. “The same one.”

“I keep thinking about her too,” Tifa murmurs. “Two years today...”

He presses his cheek against the side of her head. She is warm, and her arms are tight around his waist. Cloud sighs. He realizes how bone-tired he is. Those bones carry so much, and his skin crawls. He feels about twenty years older than he actually is.

Does it get better? Do the dreams stop?

Would he deserve it?


End file.
